


A Spider's Web

by Validity_For_Dissonance



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Nen, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kurapika is a lawyer, Kuroro runs an orphanage, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 07:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16990758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Validity_For_Dissonance/pseuds/Validity_For_Dissonance
Summary: When his family's neglect becomes too much to bear, Kalluto runs away to an orphanage run by a quaint man and his peculiar group. Illumi would rather have the world fall apart at the seams than watch his family break down. He recruits a renowned lawyer to investigate the case and ensure his brother's return to the Zoldyck House. Unfortunately, nothing goes according to plan.OrKuroro sublimates his existential crisis in a relatively healthy manner yet still manages to butt heads with a feisty blond.





	A Spider's Web

Kalluto gazed outside the car window as the grim scenery of the industrial city gave way for greenery and far in-between cottages, whose chimneys breathed puffs of smoke into a cloud-clustered sky. His heart raced at the novelty of the sight; at the quickly solidifying realization of what he had done. He ran away from his home, and accepted a stranger’s offer to provide him with another. He sorely hoped he wouldn’t come to regret his decision.

But looking at Pakunoda’s tranquil features, his hunch told him that she wouldn’t bring him any harm. The woman exuded a maternal vibe that had evaded him his entire young life, and having known only the cold, loveless embrace of his mother’s, he all but thrust himself into the unexpected warmth that so temptingly ensnared him.

Upon sensing his discerning stare, Pakunoda turned her face towards him and offered him a smile, gentle and comforting, before focusing again on the road ahead.

“We’re almost there, Kalluto,” she said, and sure enough, a grand manor began to emerge in the distance. It was gothic in design, and elegant in structure. The flowering vines adorning its walls lessened its otherwise ominous intrigue, secluded from society as it was.

The car plodded slightly along the cobblestone pathway, and the fenced gate opened slowly to allow them entry into the property. Kalluto sucked in a breath, his eyes widening. The arched spires and mosaic windows reminded him vaguely of a church, but, as the light offered a colorful glow to the stained glass, he realized it was meant to be an ode to all things beautiful. The hedges were trimmed to resemble a various mix of creatures, some bearing fantastical designs, and others somber and seemingly laden with a hidden meaning.

When Kalluto exited from the vehicle, he decided that this building was the exemplification of a paradox. Dark in color yet vibrant; mournful yet rejoicing. The peculiar contrast was a good reflection of the conflicted feelings raging inside him.

There were children playing in the expansive garden, some of whom halted their games to look at the new arrival with hardly contained curiosity. Kalluto didn’t hold any of their gazes, choosing instead to walk straight ahead with Pakunoda. She took his hand and squeezed gently. The front gate was embellished with thin, web-like patterns that tempted him trace them with a finger. Soon, it was pushed open to reveal a large hall with many doorways leading in all directions, and in the center was a wide, spiral staircase.

The place was by no means quiet. Sporadic activity could be heard in the distance, and at that moment, two teenagers came rushing down the stairs; one chasing the other and demanding that their notebook be returned. They promptly disappeared behind one of the doors. Pakunoda tugged on his hand again, and Kalluto realized that he was frozen at the footstep of the manor. He swallowed, and with his guide, stepped inside.

It wasn’t that he was terrified of the scale of the building—the Zoldyck mansion was no less grand—but having had a childhood of exclusive seclusion from the outside world, he dreaded meeting, or more horrifyingly interacting with, any of the other kids.

He followed Pakunoda absentmindedly, examining the quaint, old-fashioned decor with mild interest. Wall-mounted candle holders caught his attention, along with the central chandelier that supplied a warm, non-obtrusive light. Oil paintings adorned by heavy chestnut frames could also be found on the walls.

“Back at last, Pakunoda?” came a voice from the side, and Kalluto turned his head to see a man with long, dark hair tied in a ponytail. He had a perpetually tired look that made him seem older than he actually was. “Where’ve you been? Machi’s been waiting on you to go to town and pick up some supplies.”

“This can wait, Nobunaga,” said Pakunoda. She placed a hand on Kalluto’s shoulder, bringing him to the man’s attention, who looked at him with initial confusion that quickly faded to understanding, as though Kalluto was a commonplace case. “Do you know where Danchou is?”

Nobunaga pointed with his thumb up the staircase. “Brought some people from some art gallery to hang a new painting.” He started walking away, then, mumbling, “This one’s weirder than usual.”

Pakunoda gave a warm chuckle and shook her head, like this was a classic thing for ‘Danchou’ to do. They progressed forward until three forms could be seen. Two of the men standing there looked unimpressive, with nondescript uniforms and slackened stances, but the man standing between them and giving directional gesticulations certainly looked singular.

He was clad entirely in black; an outfit that very much suited the gothic appeal of this place with the leather blazer, black jeans, and the string tie that hardly bore any contrast against the dark dress shirt. Unlike the other two, he stood ramrod-straight with an effortless sort of elegance, and radiated an aura that Kalluto was trained to recognize—that of authority.

“Danchou, can I have you for a moment?” called Pakunoda, and the man turned to face them, bringing Kalluto’s attention instantly to the cross tattooed on his forehead.

His face eased in a smile when he recognized his subordinate and he said, “Of course.” He excused himself by placing both hands momentarily on the other mens’ shoulders before he descended the stairs, his eyes moving from Pakunoda to Kalluto in a silent question. Kalluto sucked in a breath and straightened his back. He couldn’t help but feel like he was being interviewed for a position, and he had to make a good impression. It didn’t help that he was trained to appeal to authority at all costs.

“And who might this be?” inquired ‘Danchou’ once he stood on the same level as them. His tone was light and welcoming, as that of the head of an orphanage should be.

“This is Kalluto,” said Pakunoda, bringing the boy to stand in front of her. The light pressure of her hands on his shoulders was oddly comforting. “I found him on a sidewalk when I was passing by Kukuroo Street. I offered to give him a ride, but he told me he’d just escaped an abusive home.” She paused, inclining her face downward to give Kalluto a rueful smile. “There was only one thing to do, the way I saw it.”

But somewhere along her speech, the man had grown pensive. “Kukuroo Street?” he said, the smile erased from his visage. “Are you affiliated with the Zoldycks in any way?”

Kalluto heard the silent disapproval in his voice and sensed the tightening grip on his shoulders. Nonetheless, he spoke as levelly as he could, even with the cold inevitability of rejection sinking in his stomach. “I’m Silva and Kikyo Zoldyck’s youngest.”

The man’s eyebrows rose slightly before his lips drew in a thin line.

“Danchou,” came Pakunoda’s strained voice, cutting through the uncomfortable silence. “Kalluto has nothing to do with what Silva Zoldyck had done. Surely you know this.”

But her Danchou continued to stare at Kalluto, his face unreadable and his eyes intense in their scrutiny. Eventually he looked up, his features easing as he spoke to the tall woman. “If you don’t mind, Paku, I’d like to talk to him in my office.”

She nodded slowly, and Kalluto suddenly felt cold when his shoulders were free again. “Of course.”

The man gestured for Kalluto to walk alongside him, and they were already making their way through one of the doors when Pakunoda called out, “But if you end up refusing to take him in, know that I will be very disappointed, Kuroro!”

Those were words more befitting an older sister than a subordinate, and Kalluto found himself silently gaping at Pakunoda’s perceived disrespect towards her superior. It certainly didn’t help his confusion when Kuroro gave a warm chuckle and said, “I’d sooner face heaven’s scorn than your disappointment, Paku.”

Kalluto was flummoxed. Such familiarity between boss and subordinate shouldn’t exist in any kind of establishment. It would only result in disobedience when that time was right for it. That was what his father had always said.

But he didn’t have the time to contemplate this paradox before Kuroro opened his office door and awaited the boy’s entry before closing it. The man gestured for him to sit on one of the chairs before he began fixing tea and biscuits. Kalluto abided, sitting down carefully with both hands tucked politely on his lap.

Much like the grand hallway, this room was lit by candles in ornate holders, collaborating with vintage paraphernalia and reinvented electronic devices to give a timeless feel to the place. Bookshelves were stacked to their limit, but it was also true that books lay on every surface that could hold them. On the center of the wall, a large spider was meticulously carved on dark wood. It had twelve legs instead of eight, and Kalluto found himself tracing them in his head.

“Why a spider, you must be wondering.” The sudden break in silence startled Kalluto and caused him to whip his head to the side, only to find Kuroro standing by his chair, offering a cup of tea situated on a porcelain plate. Kalluto took it carefully and gave a slight nod.

Kuroro retrieved his own cup and sat at an angle from Kalluto, retaining a more personal impression that somehow didn’t harm the formality of the situation. “A spider weaves its own web. In a metaphorical sense, it commits itself to a destiny of its own choosing. It’s what we offer to all the children we take under our wing; they get to choose who they want to be, and we help them build their potential.”

Kalluto hesitated for a moment before making the decision to respond—it seemed that the man was anticipating a reaction, after all. “I think most of them just want a home.”

There was a split second in which he flinched at his own words, berating himself for being contrary, but—Kalluto looked at the name tag on the desk—Mr. Lucilfer _laughed_. It was light and it ended fairly quickly, but it was weird all the same. The boy had talked back, after all.

“You’re correct as well,” he said, sipping from his cup before promptly pausing and fixing Kalluto with a characteristic stare. The corners of his lips eased in a smile, then. “You mustn’t be so tense, Kalluto,” he said. “I’m aware I was less than cordial when we were introduced, but you must understand that your father and I have somewhat of a… negative history.”

Curiosity brimmed inside Kalluto and stimulated his overactive imagination. He leaned forward, eager to learn of how ‘the outside’ perceived his family. “What did father do?”

Kuroro’s gaze became distant, his face devoid of emotion. There was a pause before he answered. “One of the teachers here and a dear friend of mine—your father caused him to be deported back to our homeland based on false charges. Suffice to say, my friend’s health was fragile and ill-suited for a place like Meteor City.”

The unspoken words hung in the air, and Kalluto felt a lump forming at the base of his throat. His father had caused the death of Mr. Lucilfer’s friend.

But the fog cleared from the man’s face like a carefully chosen mask, and he spoke more gently then, “But the sins of the father don’t have to be borne by the son.”

Kalluto snapped his head upward after a moment’s despair, his rose-colored eyes glistening softly as he gave the man his utmost attention.

Kuroro placed his tea on a low table and leaned forward attentively, linking his hands together on his knees. “Say, Kalluto,” he started. “What caused you to run away?”

The boy fiddled with the hem of his sleeve, pulling at it so that it covered most of his hand. When he saw that Kuroro took notice of the gesture, he abated whatever was running through the benefactor’s mind with a quick, “It’s not really what you think.” He received a slow nod, which he took as a prompt to continue. “My parents don’t _really_ abuse me. They never hurt me, um… physically. It’s just that…” he stopped, taking in a large, frustrated gulp of air.

“It’s okay,” said Kuroro softly. “Say whatever is on your mind.”

Kalluto squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, willing himself to just _speak_ , and eventually blurted out, “They treat me as if I don’t exist!” He paused, his eyes shooting open to gauge his interlocutor’s reaction. When he found that he was still attentive, Kalluto continued, “They don’t really care about me. At all. Sometimes they look at me like they wish I would just disappear—like I was a mistake. They have Killua to fawn over, and all the rest of us are like background noise, except that… well… they entrust Illumi with taking care of us, but he only really cares about Killua. Killua only cares about Alluka, who never really leaves his side. And Milluki… Milluki is always in his room, doing his own thing, and I… I have _no one_.”

He ended his monologue with gritted teeth, his hair falling to cast a shadow across his face. He was shaking with all the repressed emotion, but he clenched his fists hard enough to force himself not to cry.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” he said, his voice quavering. “I feel like I’ll surely go insane if they look right through me one more time. I want to know that I exist, and I want to be happy about it!”

Looking up and clearing his hair out of moistened eyes, he found Kuroro regarding him with sympathetic sadness that almost caused the tight seal that Kalluto had over his emotions to break.

“You said that they didn’t abuse you,” started Kuroro quietly, “but you’re wrong.” And at that, a tear fell from Kalluto’s eye. “This is abuse. No one should be treated like they don’t exist.”

Kalluto didn’t expect to be validated; didn’t think that his suffering was anything more than a pathetic weakness, and soon, he was holding his face and crying, unhinged for the first time. Kuroro sat closer to him, a hand rubbing soothingly against his back.

When his tears were dry, the man offered him a tissue and allowed him the time to recover from his fit.

“How old are you, Kalluto?”

“Ten…” he sniffled.

Kuroro hummed and fell into deep thought. Eventually, he said, “I’m not turning you away.” Kalluto’s heart skipped a beat, and suddenly he was very light. “If you wish to stay here, you’re more than welcome, but…”

“… But what?” urged Kalluto.

“You’ll have to make a sacrifice,” deadpanned Kuroro. “You have to sever all ties with your family.”

A second ago, his heart was soaring, and now, it fell to the pit of his stomach. “You mean… I never get to see them again?”

“More like you stop being a Zoldyck,” said Kuroro softly. “You can see them, but you won’t be one of them. Do you understand what I mean?”

“They won’t be my family anymore…” muttered Kalluto his realization distantly, at which the man nodded.

Kuroro heaved a sigh. “This is not because of a grudge I have against your father; but rather to ensure that you’ll be safely placed in our custody. You see, usually we take in children that never had homes to begin with; or ones whose families were abusive but too impoverished to invoke the law. Taking in the son of an influential family with billions of Jennies? Now that is unprecedented. A single trip to the court, and you’ll be back to the very situation you escaped. Do you understand my reasoning?”

“I think so…” said Kalluto, voice still distant. “But… how will you do it? How will I stop being a Zoldyck?”

The man smiled and shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about that. I need only your consent, and you can begin calling this place your home, and us, your family.”

Kalluto considered, looking at the gentle man in front of him and contrasting his behavior to that of his father’s. He recalled all the times he was abandoned in the cold, hours after the prison-like school had finished, waiting for someone to pick him up. He recalled having to look for his birth certificate to find out when his birthday was. He recalled all the times he craved affection with the desperation of a drowning man. And he made his decision.

“Okay…” he said, but his voice was too quiet and he was surprised at the utterance. To confirm he had said it, he repeated in a louder voice, “Okay. I don’t want to be a Zoldyck anymore.”

The smile on Kuroro’s face widened, and he said, “Welcome to Genei Ie, Kalluto.”

 

* * *

 

Kuroro guided Kalluto up the spiral staircase, discreetly noting the child’s curiosity as he assessed his new home. They passed by a classroom whose doorway was opened and paused there—sunlight streamed plentifully into the room, and the students were sat in a semi-circle with their books on their laps, paying close attention to their teacher, who sat in the middle.

“This is a school as well as an orphanage,” said Kuroro in a hushed tone, taking note not to disturb the class. “Bonolenov teaches cultural studies and sociology. I think you’ll quite like him.”

The children noticed their presence, and they turned simultaneously to the doorway before their young faces lit up in exuberation.

“Good morning, Mr. Kuroro!” they shouted in unison.

He beamed at them and regarded them all fondly. “Good morning, everyone. Learning about the Kurta tribe, I see?”

“They say their eyes can turn red!” exclaimed Izi, her bright pink hair bouncing at her sudden movement.

“They don’t really exist, do they?” said Bruno, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Sure they do,” said Kuroro. “But they choose to live away from society—kind of like we do, except that we’re arguably easier to find.” Bonolenov snorted at that and shook his head.

“Why though?” asked Izi, leaning forward and dangerously close to falling on her face.

“Well, focus on what Mr. Bonolenov is saying and you’ll find out.” He gave a wink at the collective, disgruntled groans and motioned for Kalluto to step forth for an introduction, only to find the boy hiding out of sight. Kuroro gave him a questioning look, but Kalluto only shook his head. With an understanding nod, the man bade the students goodbye and took the boy’s hand.

“You must be very tired,” he said. “I’ll show you to your room, and maybe someone will give you a tour later when you’ve rested. What do you say?”

Kalluto nodded slowly and yawned.

They reached the wing that housed the children and walked across the hall. The walls were adorned by lovely drawings made by the kids, which gave the wing a character by reflecting that of its inhabitants. There were also paintings and plants decorating the premises, but they were all exclusively chosen by the children.

When they reached a room at the end of the hall, Kuroro opened it and stepped aside to allow Kalluto entry. It was spacious and airy, with white curtains fluttering with the breeze, and heavy, elegant furnishing. A fireplace sat at the heart of the room, and there were bookshelves situated just atop it.

“I hope you don’t mind sharing,” said Kuroro. There were three beds, placed with a good distance between them, but that didn’t stop Kalluto from giving him an anxious look. He smiled at the boy and said, “Kurt and Reina will love to have you, and I’m sure you’ll like them as well.”

Kalluto nodded then, and much to Kuroro’s surprise, the repressed boy stepped forth and hugged him. The ‘thank you’ was muffled when he said it, and Kuroro ran a hand over his head, returning the embrace with the other arm.

“You’re very welcome.”

 

* * *

 

After Kuroro had parted ways with the boy, he called in a meeting with his fellow teachers and caretakers, explaining to them Kalluto’s situation in detail. As expected, some had empathized, and others were bitter about the idea of taking in a Zoldyck. Pakunoda took it upon herself to become the child’s self-appointed advocate.

“Kalluto did nothing aside from being born to Silva Zoldyck; something that even _he_ tried—is trying—to escape!” she said.

“Doesn’t cancel the fact that he has Zoldyck blood running through his veins,” said Nobunaga, whose expression was heavy and aggrieved. “They all turn out the same.”

“I call bullshit,” said Machi, her arms crossed over her chest. “It’s because of the way they’re raised.”

“I must admit,” said Feitan mischievously, “disgracing that man by raising a child of his who ran to the enemy is a very pleasing idea.”

“I say we flip a coin,” Shizuku said eventually.

“No,” deadpanned Pakunoda. “We won’t decide a child’s fate based on chance.”

They all turned to Kuroro, then.

“Danchou?” said Kortopi.

Kuroro regarded them and said, “I agree with Paku. This is too serious to refuse based on sentiment, even if it hurts us all to remember what Silva Zoldyck did to one of our own. But to refuse a child asking for shelter is to go against one of the founding principles of this house. I hope you can all come to view this matter with an open mind, even if it takes you time, but I have decided. We’re taking Kalluto in.”

Shalnark sighed. “So what’s the plan? As you’d said, the Zoldycks will be too eager to take this to court, if only to piss us off or humiliate us.”

Kuroro stirred his tea before bringing it in for a sip. “They only have a case if Kalluto is a Zoldyck,” he said calmly.

Some of his friends blinked, and others looked at him as though they ascertained that he had gone dumb.

“But…” began Bonolenov slowly, “Kalluto _is_ a Zoldyck.”

“Not once we’re done with our work,” he set his cup aside and inched forward in his chair, and that was when they knew that he would begin to assign them all roles in the scheme he had concocted. “Shalnark, I want you to locate all files, documents, photographs, and records of Kalluto’s previous life and terminate them. Machi and Paku, you’ll have to extract useful information about Kalluto from the people who surrounded him. Household members, schoolmates, teachers… doesn’t matter. Phinks and Feitan, some business associates of the Zoldyck’s will only be too eager to support their friend; give them a friendly reminder of what happens to those who cross us. And lastly…”

Kuroro turned to his diminutive, long haired friend. “Kortopi, I want you to forge Kalluto’s new documents, starting with his birth certificate.” He paused, fixing them all with a look.

“From now on, Kalluto Zoldyck is Kalluto Lucilfer.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kuroro in a mentor/parental role + being a gothic icon? Yes please.  
> This chapter was mainly focused on world-building, I suppose. Kurapika will be introduced in the next chapter. :)


End file.
